Freckles
by Beatrice Lily
Summary: After being hurt by Sonic for the final time, Amy Rose decides she's going to stop eating. Note: One-shot


I sat there in the coffee shop, troubled, thoughts racing into a scramble which my brain couldn't comprehend, my heart beating a thousand thumps. The café was quite popular, a bustle amongst residents, especially during the early morning and late night where it thrives brighter than any star. I came in the afternoon; around two to five, when the place is dead. Lifeless. Not a simple soul ready to pay a visit, too wrapped up in their own lives to ever rest. It's a good place to begin and a good place to end – never in between.

My fingers fidgeted, shaking in a slight motion but noticed when peering idle in front of your face. I stared blankly at the menu with a sadden look, pathetic in spirit with no spark in my eyes. It's been like that for weeks now, my head in a different realm.

I can recall a man at the counter asking me if I needed something, over and over again. Never responding, I acted as if I was oblivious, but that wasn't the case. I heard him; I just didn't want to answer.

Eyes tracing my surroundings, I picked apart each aspect – the artistic values, creativity striving at each corner of the place, representing one's perspective and their individual self. The walls were a deep copper, making the room smaller than it actually was, suggesting a safe and secure atmosphere. Pictures hung in varied sequences, each artist unique with their own style and mood.

My stomach stirred to each sight, twisting and turning into a tight knot unfit for one's sake. I prefer not pondering about my gut. It's something I'd rather neglect.

"Hey lady… lady!"

"Huh, wha'?"

"Ya need somethin'?"

I took a deep breath, granting a whiff of the coffee's stench and tasting it in my mouth. Oh, how pleasant it was, but at the same time, it made me want to vomit.

I sneezed right in his face. Oh! How embarrassing!

"Oh! I'm so sorry!" I murmured. My cheeks were flushed cherry and a palm covering my muzzle. I'm so stupid!

"It's okay," he muttered in a soft tone. "Ya need anything?"

"No, no, no! I'm just here to relax. I don't want anything, really." I finally responded.

He merely grunted, returning to his prior chores.

Something about him made me curious. Most guys these days give me butterflies – it's a habit I've adapted from a former age. Surely, it's become my nature. There are days I wish I could get rid of such a characteristic, while others I'd cling onto it for eternity. It's difficult to let go.

I observed. I studied his hair flowing down to his chin, canine ears flipping up and down, and sweet eyes that made my stomach churn by sight. But no! I gotta stop thinking about my stomach.

I couldn't help but gaze. I liked him at an instant, even if I barely knew him. Have I truly become that lonely?

I watched as he organized the small treats present for the customers on the counter – a strawberry tart that reminded me of a sugar mountain, square brownies appearing moist and chewy, chocolate cookies as a common classic, and a muffin; the final muffin to be more exact.

"Are you sure you don't want anything to eat?" he asked me.

My body jumped, disillusioned by my observations and startled by his sudden voice. "Oh, no sir, but thank you."

"Are you sure? Look – I'll even pay for you. How does that sound?" he offered. The guy paused, scanning the food briefly. "Whatta 'bout this muffin, huh? You'd like that, right?"

I sighed. "No sir."

Scrunching his eyebrows, he peered down below my face to my body, I mocking his action. It was then I realized why he asked me so much.

I was fragile, rib-cage revealed through my skin, addressing a sicken lady. Thin and petit, I could barely stand, better yet walk, people amazed that I was able to achieve such a goal. My fur no longer blossomed, no longer rich, but dry and stale, coarse by touch. My legs and arms have become as noodles, drooping down to nothing with no strength and energy.

I often shiver, covering myself in sweaters and blankets to keep warm, but no matter what, I just keep shivering. Breaching out for attention, my body has become my king. I can no longer think for myself anymore – it's dominant, my body as a mere reflection of my being.

I can't stand it. Never again, and yet, how'd it come to this?

Now that I look back, it all started with him. Oh! Him, him, him, him, him, him! – His azure fur bellowing through the breeze, free-spirited, deriving the wind's essence and making it his kingdom. I admired him, which soon turned to desirable love, true love in my perspective. The prince I've always dreamed of finally arrived, and he saved me. Me? Of all people, I was rescued when presumed doomed. Oh, just the thought of it makes my chest turn to bubbles. Everything about him I loved.

For many years I'd ask him to join me in matrimony. Married to him until our dying day was my greatest ambition, which I strived to make reality. Every time I mentioned such an idea, he'd run off, astonished by my offer and noting it as a nuisance. I was a nuisance I believe.

I would chase him after that, all across cities and canyons, mountains and valleys, until my stamina was wasted. The next day would arrive, and the cycle began all over again.

I was hurt, emotions taking over my sense, tears streaming down my face to unveil such a manner. He'd never see me though – from the moment I'd ask him, he was already miles away. Breathing arduous, I sobbed out my sorrow. I weep for whom? Myself? Am I truly that selfish?

Some days it was like an intense hit, a sharp strike jabbing the back of my head and cracking my skull to fragments. It becomes impossible to put the pieces back to its original form. During other moments, it was as if pins were sticking out of my torso, each one distinctive beneath the skin. I couldn't help it really.

He then told me why he always ran. It wasn't because he hated me, nor because I was a bad person. He just loathed the image of him being married, restrained by a relationship. It frightened him – he preferred being free.

I understood his reasoning, but it made me realize the reality. The two of us being together was virtually impossible.

I moved on, or at least I hoped.

One day I saw him again. It had been so long since our last encounter, and I had missed him terribly. Anxious and desperate, yet grateful of his return, I approached my former crush, only to discover something unbearable. Something disgusting.

He turned his head, revealing a lady friend next to him, flowing red locks and prettier eyes than mine.

Out of curiosity and confusion, I asked him who she was.

"Oh yeah! Sorry for not introducing her to you," he told me. "This is my girlfriend."

My heart came to a halt, like a screeching car ceasing in a rush. "What?"

"This is my girlfriend."

I backed away speechless. "Umm, that's nice," I commented, my voice quivering.

My chest felt bloated and heavy, stomach to the floor and my throat clogged up by a dry pill. I couldn't believe this.

I was in denial.

_No, no! He wouldn't get a girlfriend. That's so unlike him! He even told me himself, how he'll never be in a relationship, right? He's just teasing me, trying to be funny. Ha, ha, ha, ha! Yep! That's exactly it. No, wait! That's not it. Oh god! I feel sick._

I saw him with many women after that, all lovely and elegant. Flirting with them, granting them kisses, and showing more affection that I didn't know he was capable of. I hated it! I despised it so much!

I wanted to spit, just punch that little fuzzy face of his and make him suffer. I wanted to kick his stomach and throw him out the window. But, at the same time, I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to be those other girls, able to embrace him and never let go. I still loved him.

Goddammit! Why'd he do this to me? What makes me different from those other girls? _What's wrong with me?_

Is it my hair? I can change it if you like. No? Is it my fashion sense, because I can change that too? Is it my breath? Does it smell? What is it then? What do I need to do for you to accept me?

Maybe it's simply because you don't like me. You never did. You just lied to get rid of me. I'm so annoying! So terrible! I hate myself!

Perfection! That's the answer! I'll make myself perfect like those other girls. I need to be beautiful, so I'll put on more makeup. Yes, yes, more here and there. Yet, you still don't notice me. No matter! I'll just get a nice low-cut shirt and a mini skirt to show off my legs. Am I pretty now?

No, I'm not pretty, I'm hideous, a horrible excuse for a person. The only way someone would ever like me is if I'm perfect. Perfect hair. Perfect body. Perfect personality. Perfect everything, just like those other girls. I know that's the truth.

Yet, I'm so fat. I need to end this atrocious sight.

I'll stop eating. Yes! That's it, and I'll do it just for you. Then you can wisp me off my feet, adoring me until our dying day, like a fairytale I used to read when I was a little girl. The prince and the princess, together at last – my dream! How much I want it to come true! We'll be the perfect match and I'll finally be content. Just watch and see! I'm doing it all for you.

_Perfection. Perfection. Stop eating. Stop eating. Yet, I'm so hungry._

Oh no! I just ate something. I gotta spit it out now. No! I already swallowed. I gotta get rid of it. Throw it up. Wash it all away. It disturbs, disrupts my reasoning and leaves me disconnected.

Approaching the toilet, my finger reaches down into my throat. I vomit into the swirling pool, its stench making me nauseous, dirty water compiling into my own filth that speaks a thousand words. That's better. Everything's alright.

Yet, this condition had left me scarred. No one acknowledges me as a person. Now I'm just the anorexic girl, frightened and confused. Such a disease represents me, overruling my conscience, although, I can't help but believe that it's all me. I've become the disease.

I'm not good enough. I'm just not good enough. I'll never be good enough for him.

As of now, I'm present at this café, staring at the lone muffin the guy placed. I'm quite famished, but I've learned to ignore my stomach pains. However, today it's become unusually difficult. I haven't had a muffin in years.

"Are you sure you don't want anything?" the man asked again.

"Yes," I murmured, but continued staring at the treat.

From the corner of my eye, I noticed as the guy took a hard glimpse at me. He studied my expression, signifying an obvious wonderment and his head in a deep thought. I tried turning away, but our eyes eventually met as a natural reaction to the close contact.

My mouth tried to make words, but no sound came out, my jaw jittering as they attempted to speak. My shoulders tightened.

"Hmph," the guy muttered, angling away and back to his job.

My body loosened as he departed, letting out a small sigh too quiet and gentle to be noticed.

"You know, I had a girlfriend once," he began saying to me. I tilted my head. "She was so high maintenance. A bossy woman, constantly trying to get me to do things I didn't want to do. I did them anyway, just to make her happy. I'm a people pleaser like that, ya know?"

He cleared his throat.

"Anyhow, I eventually dumped her 'cause she drove me crazy. That's the problem with people – they have so many expectations. I guess she just couldn't deal with my flaws, but hey, everyone's got 'em! Like freckles on a face, it's what truly makes us who we are aside from everyone else. I suppose all you have to do is to learn to love them regardless, and find someone in this world who can love 'em just as much. It's better than being a soulless doll, which by the way was what my ex-girlfriend was. God, she was so vain!"

I listened to him, my ears perked up to his direction.

"Eek, I don' know why I'm tellin' you this. I just wanna talk to someone right now. This shift gets pretty lonely."

"That's alright. I don't mind," I told me.

We were both silent.

"Well, I better get back to work."

"Yeah."

He resigned from our encounter and back to his job, my concentration gradually drifting away from him. I drew back to the muffin, my head laid down low as I pondered about my current condition and what I've become of it. From what he told me, how can I take that in through myself?

_What's wrong with me?_

_What's wrong with him?_

_What's wrong with them?_

_Who's right and wrong in this?_

_How can you tell?_

_Is there a clear answer?_

_Am I happy? Naw. I'm miserable._

_Can I fix this? Don't know._

_My brain hurts – I'm confused!_

_What am I going to do now?_

I take a quick glance at the guy once more, then the muffin. The guy… The muffin… The guy… The muffin…

My fingers twiddling, I attempt to pick up the sweet treat.

I seize my action, my hands shaking as if they knew fear. Should I continue?

Reach out to it… and then stop. Reach out… stop. Reach out… pull back. Then again. Reach out… hesitate. Reach out… grab it.

It smells heavenly.

"Sir!"

He smiled. "Yes miss?"

"I would like this muffin please."


End file.
